


Of Worms And Ecstasy

by ninchannie



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Bottom Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun is a serial killer, Condoms, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Sex, Cruelty, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gratuitous use of italics, Killing, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Soobin doesn't know Yeonjun is a murderer duh, Top Choi Yeonjun, Undernegotiated Kink, after murder high sex, aka they dont talk about it at all, idk what else to tag here it is yeonjun brutally murdering someone, just a random character though, lots of blood, okay maybe even sane, soobin at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninchannie/pseuds/ninchannie
Summary: The metal slides easily over the slick skin, ignoring hairs and gunk in its wake and only halts when Yeonjun sits up somewhat, finding a more stable seat on the worm’s legs. He dares to look innocent like this, even drenched in his own panic and piss, drenching Yeonjun in it, he dares to look like he’s sleeping. Disgusting.OrYeonjun kills and has a desperate crush on Choi Soobin.
Relationships: Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 11
Kudos: 114





	Of Worms And Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> If the tags weren't clear enough, I'll put some more warnings here:
> 
> \- Yeonjun is killing someone, explained in great detail, if you don't like blood, gore, body horror (big wounds and stuff), death, then don't proceed  
> \- What Yeonjun does is wrong and disgusting but this is fiction, of course I don't condone murder irl wtf  
> \- Soobin is confused about some things (rightfully) and Yeonjun does not explain himself. I wouldn't consider this dubious consent, since Soobin still willingly wants to fuck Yeonjun (probably even if he knew that he was a serial killer)  
> \- There's probably lots of plotholes, the murder is unrealistic, etc. but since again, this is fiction, I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing  
> -no mcd!! 
> 
> If you feel okay reading this despite the warnings, I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for being here!

A thud, a blow to his forehead has Yeonjun stagger back. It’s just a book, chemistry if he can see it correctly, where it falls to the floor out of the mans cramping hand. But now there’s stabbing pain on his forehead as well as his cheek, and he will have to explain the blood on the cover to his teacher _. Stupid fucking worms can do nothing right_.

In some distant, clear-headed and petrified part of his brain, Yeonjun knows it’s the high from the ketamine, the hallucination probably giving the guy thoughts of monsters and demons, his worst nightmares personified on the body of a high-schooler. _Pathetic_.

The part of him that is there now however, mostly unaffected by the blood running over his brow and tinging his sight pink, that side is mad. Furious. Beyond sane yet not quiet lunatic enough to just give him another shot and make the poor guy’s heart stop. Push him out of his suffering into a blissfully unmourned death. Blissful for Yeonjun, that is, filled with terror for the other.

But really, after scratching his arms and neck open and now blowing a fucking _book_ at Yeonjun’s face, the student foresees any right on mercy for the other. The tranquilizer will move him past a state of _high_ soon enough, into the deepest and darkest, most foul places of his mind’s recesses. His body will stop moving, but Yeonjun will make sure to keep his eyes open, so that the worm can recount every second of his gleeful death at the gates of hell.

But in the now, he’s still putting up a fight, stumbling and swerving in a desperate try to grab the book again, turning his back towards his reaper, which is just _so_ naïve, purely dumb if you ask Yeonjun, who kicks him down easily with his fucking _school_ loafers, right into the base of his spine and it cracks disgustingly, but he doubts he did any real harm.

The filth falls to the ground, rolling onto his back, his ugly body winding like a slug that is slowly burning under the constant rays of the sun. Yeonjun is the sun, bright and burning and powerful, taking out entire men with heated eyes and passioned fingers.

Black hair sticks to the guy’s face in fatty streaks, revolting just like the stinging scent of sweat and piss clinging to him like a second skin, a filthy layer of scent perfectly fitting a rotten person’s insides.

He must’ve pissed himself when throwing the book at Yeonjun, either too petrified to hold himself together like a decent human, or his body too affected by the ketamine to discern which muscles can let loose and which can’t. It’s weak, embarrassing, pathetic. Yeonjun will do this man a _favour_ wiping him off the face of the earth.

He’s winding and curling in on himself underneath the high-schooler, nearly kicking him in the shin in the process, there’s still so much _fight_ left in him. This one really doesn’t want to die it seems. Yeonjun is disgusted.

“Can’t you just _fucking_ stop moving,” he says, his tone whiny like he isn’t getting the flavour of ice-cream he wanted. Careful to not be in range for a fist or foot flailing towards his feet, Yeonjun rounds him, picking up the chemistry book dripping with blood where it landed a few metres away from his backpack.

A splatter of it seeps into the pages from one of the corners, where it must’ve hit him on the forehead. Trying to open it, Yeonjun realizes just how bad it is, the pages ripping where the liquid soiled it, whole paragraphs made unreadable under dark red wetness. It’s completely ruined. _Great_.

“Now I have to get a new book, a _month_ before graduating,” he says, as if the worm on the ground can as much as pick words apart in his state. Yeonjun faintly realizes that he’s yelling, when his throat strains around the next words. “Great, _fucking_ great.”

His words bounce off of the tall metal walls of his father’s old workshop, echoing from left to right and making the guy flinch into a position of fear, arms over his head, legs bending and curling in as far as his fat stomach allows him. A pathetic try to get back to his safest space, just a naked, helpless embryo with no will to live.

He’s garbling, spit foaming in front of his mouth and his eyes are flitting back and forth, rolling back into his head until vessels pop and he looks even more pathetic. Fighting back, any bite to try and live has slipped out of his grasp. He’s letting go, just like his muscles are under the onslaught of horse tranquilizer finally, _finally_ settling into his system.

Triumphantly, Yeonjun smiles and knees down next to his calming body, well as calm as it can be, forced into paralysis with pictures of pure terror dancing in his puny little brain. He sighs exaggeratedly, basking in the way even the softest of sounds makes the worm’s eyes go wide and focus on him, solely him.

“This is much better, isn’t it?”, he asks, completely rhetorically and sending a glare to the guy when he has the audacity to _sob_. Yeonjun straddles his broad hips with some disgust at the wetness he can feel underneath him, tapping the book’s back with the tips of his fingers in crawling little sounds. He hopes they snake their way into the other’s brain in morphed pictures of horror. “You know, it is not nice to go after someone with a book, that could end _badly_.”

His voice is icy, even with that lilting cuteness to his tone and Yeonjun salivates at the last shudder of life raking through the pathetic worm underneath him, just from these few words. He might be drooling, but how is he supposed _not_ to, when embarrassing tears find their way out of ugly, bulging eyes.

With the first strike, Yeonjun knocks the other’s head back against the stone floor, making him choke on his foaming spit. With the second, a corner of it to his temple, he knocks him out and finally, _finally_ there’s silence. It trickles sweetly down his neck, over his back and settles right behind his kidneys, softly, gently. _Silence is good_.

Gingerly, to not disturb the precious steadiness of the air, Yeonjun places the book down next to him, now completely drenched in blood. In comfortable familiarity he pulls the little pocketknife from his back pocket, small and useless really, ever since he got it on a camping trip when he was younger. But with careful tending to, he made it a sharp, surgical thing of power.

Like everything, even the most pathetic things can become something of worth, just like these measly ants of humans can become an artwork, an altar, in their death.

Taking a deep breath, Yeonjun runs his hands up the guy’s chest, softly and wondering if that is how his wife touched him, his mistress, whoever was desperate enough to lay in bed with an abomination like this.

His fingers flick open the buttons of the fat-stained shirt almost playfully, dancing down his chest in little steps, swirling around the plastic of each button softly, as if caressing the poor fabric of the shirt that was forced to engulf such a man.

Just like the hair on his head, his chest is painted with oily curls, pressed tight against his skin, around his nipples, his skin glistening with a terrified sweat from his neck to the band of his slacks. Sometimes Yeonjun would go down there, have a little fun with whatever he finds and his knife, but with this one he isn’t very keen on finding out what lies underneath his hips.

Slowly, he slides down, backwards until he doesn’t have to strain his legs apart as far over his broad hips, almost pleasantly settling under his knees and curling over the body underneath him. It’s still warm, still thrumming with the last, tiny waves of life. Almost cute in its austerity if it wasn’t for the stench of worthlessness clinging to it.

Yeonjun will lift that burden soon, he murmurs that into the soft pudgy skin of a hairy stomach. He will make it all stop, swiftly, deliciously but not easily, no, where would be the catharsis in making it easy.

He doesn’t even have to look at his hands to slot the knife free, his eyes trained on the expanse of wobbly skin, rising in chaste breaths. It’s warm, so warm underneath him and the knife in his fingers is warm too, from his own body’s heat, but it’s a different kind of warm, artificial and he wonders if the blade feels any happiness when it’s buried into a living, breathing body. If it finds as much vindication in it as he does.

The metal slides easily over the slick skin, ignoring hairs and gunk in its wake and only halts when Yeonjun sits up somewhat, finding a more stable seat on the worm’s legs. He dares to look innocent like this, even drenched in his own panic and piss, drenching _Yeonjun_ in it, he dares to look like he’s sleeping. _Disgusting_.

Yeonjun raises his arm high and brings the knife down in a clean strike, burying the short blade in the soft skin swiftly. It squelches nastily when he forces it down to the halt with a heavy press of his palm, like a very broken trash chute struggling to swallow the remnants of rotten fruit and moldy vegetables.

The hard part comes in dragging the small knife across the length of stomach and opening up the insides for Yeonjun’s eyes. Even in its handily optimized state, the metal gets stuck, needs to be pulled out and repositioned, thrust back in, repeat.

It results in a jarred line diagonally crossing the smooth skin, blood pouring out in amounts that remind Yeonjun of the fruit punch Taehyun accidentally knocked over a few days earlier at the small party in this very hall. People dancing, having fun, drinking, where now Yeonjun is making blood flow like a fountain.

There are bubbling sounds coming from deep inside of the fat body, gnarly and guttural, making the skin of Yeonjun’s neck crawl and his mouth taste sour. The knife clatters to the ground loudly, into the ever-growing pool of deep red. The silence makes way for Yeonjun’s sick orchestra to fiddle through the space.

He has long forsaken gloves, long over the first reluctance of pushing his fingers so _into_ something, someone. He doesn’t mind that his hands burn from all kinds of bodily liquid, that flesh and gunk get trapped under his nails, it’s part of what makes him crave this, if he’s being earnest.

So he slots index, middle and ring finger of both hands into the gashing wound and he _rips_ , until it makes a nice opening for him to see all layers of meat and muscle and organ, the distinct iron scent of blood laying heavily over his being like a misty cloud of red.

The deeper he digs, the more blood pours out, but the scent makes space for the _bad_ , the deep disgusting insides of human essence, held hostage in the very entrails, the organs making a body _live._

Yeonjun pays half a mind to his throat contracting, to his body heaving with gags, instead concentrating on the beautiful tremors running through the opened body underneath him. He’s at the brink, held out this long, but these are the signs that it’s over, that the owner of this body is giving up, was forced to give up.

It’s a sweet drop of regret that flowers in Yeonjun’s chest, that if this stupid fucking nuisance of a worm wouldn’t have ruined his book, he would’ve been awake enough to feel his body be ripped apart, to something entering him, fingering him where nobody ever touched before.

But he forgets about it as soon as the tremors turn to full on cramps, his fingers getting trapped between muscle and organ, a body wanting to force him out even in its last moments. In his head, he chuckles when instead he pushes his right hand further into the mess and twists, gripping to everything he can get in the tight fit and curling it around his fingers.

The heaving stops, and so does the bloodflow, slowing down to a barely-there trickle. At slow-motion speed lungs wheeze out a last breath of air, the heart long having stopped to pump, and as if engulfed by the icy soul leaving the body underneath him, Yeonjun feels a stiff calm flow over him.

_It’s over_. The body is still warm around his fingers, insides still twitching here and there, even in death, but it’s over. The same pleasure from before, wondering about what the pathetic guy is dreaming of in his last minutes, wondering if he can feel Yeonjun forcefully enter him, that pleasurable thought is gone, and left is Yeonjun with a body too big to carry and his fingers stuck between fat and filth.

Forming fists inside of the body, Yeonjun grips tight and _rips_ them out, not caring that blood is splattering all over his school’s tracksuit, that something from the gnarly digestive system of the worm is exploding into his palm. This is such a _nuisance_. He works so hard for these poor souls and all he gets in return is a headache.

It always feels like this in the first few moments, when the last bit of life seeps from Yeonjun’s bodies and he is left to deal with all that comes after, when the thrill is gone.

But thankfully it only lasts the time it takes for him to stand up and get the rusty metal contraption over, hooked to a system at the beams of the ceiling and in the past used to carry heavy car parts through the workshop, to get the unnecessary ones into the incinerator or the car press.

Now, Yeonjun wraps equally rusty chains around the shoulders and legs of the body, only fastening them enough to carry him the short distance to the huge firestone leading into the chimney of the workshop, reaching up high over the flat roof of the place and only ever giving out smoke when Yeonjun is here. He doubts his father even knows that he left the workshop to Yeonjun in very much workable conditions.

Sure, the mechanics of the crane don’t work, but heaved up, Yeonjun can easily yank the body over and deposit into the more than generous opening to the incinerator, falling down with a wet splash and a crunch on the small bones collecting at the bottom of the burner after every use.

His eyes light up in timing with fire engulfing the worm, scorching, filling the space with fumes and stinking scent of charred flesh and hair, burning organs and bones. A smile plays on Yeonjun’s lips when he pulls off the bloody jacket of his tracksuit and throws it into the flames as well, seeing the emblem of his school light up almost ironically.

Discarding of most of his clothes like this, Yeonjun is naked safe for his leather loafers, trotting over to his backpack to collect it, debating if he should keep the chemistry book as remembrance but in the end throwing it into the incinerator as well. He’s not dumb.

He throws his backpack onto the ground next to the industrial hose in a different corner of the room, shoes placed next to it almost orderly before Yeonjun turns the stream on and begins rinsing off his hands with the soap he keeps at the workshop for this exact reason.

The stream is heavy, not meant for washing, but it does the job well, pink water flooding into the drain running along the whole length of the place. He makes sure to get every bit of dirt out from under his nails, off his arms and even stands under the painful stream for a bit to get all traces of stench off of him he can. His knife is next, nearly cutting into his skin as he thoroughly cleans it.

The wounds on his face and neck are left trickling creeks of blood, mostly dry and crusty, nothing he needs to be concerned for. He collects the ice-cold water in his palms like in a bowl and gently washes the blood away, opening up the wounds in the process of cleaning them, but he doesn’t even feel the pain through the beginning stages of pure ecstasy overtaking his mind.

After taking the hose and extensively washing all blood and pieces of flesh on the floor away, he lets himself dry off in front of the warmth of the incinerator, almost like a ritual after every time he works the oven, and waits for his spare school uniform to get to a cozy temperature before slipping it on.

There’s fresh blood trickling over his face, he should feel it, but his skin is buzzing with that distinct energy only a thing like this can give him. Yeonjun doesn’t call it killing, murder. He does something much more important and valuable when he gets his fingers on a worm and squeezes every last ounce of life out of it.

In the time he waits for the burner to do its work, Yeonjun plucks his phone from his backpack to check his appearance, to see if he can take the bus home without anyone calling for an ambulance at the sight of him.

The blood runs out of the small cut on his forehead quite prettily, two twin rivers parting right over his eyebrow, one running down his nose and the other over his temple, marrying into the blood seeping from the scratch on his cheek. It’s not a steady stream by far, will crust up soon enough, so Yeonjun really doesn’t mind all that much to clean it up.

Instead, he opens his chat with Soobin and wonders if they’re all that ready for this step yet. But really when is the right time, if not with adrenaline and sweet happiness running through his system in rivers like liquid gold.

He takes an unhealthy number of selfies, throwing cute hand signs next to his face, fingers that dug through the entrails of a nasty slug not even an hour ago. He makes sure to give Soobin his cutest smiles, his biggest eyes. The blood is just an accessory accentuating his features, isn’t it?

Soobin’s last message is a cute _good luck with your presentation hyung ^-^_ from that very morning, answered with just a quick thank you. The pictures seem like a much nicer conversation starter than any words Yeonjun could come up with, so he sends them in bulk, all twenty-one, and doesn’t think twice about it.

_Look how cute :3_

Yeonjun doesn’t even have to exit the app before Soobin is already answering with a plethora of heart eyes and cute emojis.

_Omg hyung!!!_

_Is that for your theatre project? ^-^_

_Looks so real but also super scary!!!_

_I hope it’s not a horror story or I will cry when I come watch you next week_

The irony doesn’t fly over Yeonjun’s head, instead he loughs loud and hallow in the hall of the workshop, twirling around himself in a strange giddiness. The fire is simmering out behind him, no remnants left of the pathetic worm, except for a few very resistant bones.

_It’s a private project, don’t worry uwu_

_Hey_

_Hey Soobinnie_

_Soobin-ahhhhh_

_Hey Soobin are you at home?_

He’s being annoying and Yeonjun knows it, but he’s also a desperate man. Thankfully Soobin doesn’t seem to be far off of that notion, his answer almost immediate.

_Junjuuuuun_

_Yes I am, do you want to come by? ^-^_

_My parents are working though T-T so no food until 8ish_

_I’m not coming for your mother’s Tteokbeokki ;3_

_I’ll be there in 30_

Yeonjun has his doubts that Soobin knows what he’s hinting at, the younger being deliciously naïve to a point that it makes Yeonjun go _crazy_ when he’s clear headed, even more so now, completely pulsating with life.

They’ve been dancing around each other for a bit now, for too long, going with nothing more than some chaste kisses during a movie night when Soobin was too sleepy to really realize the weight behind it.

_It’s time_ , it has been for far too long. Yeonjun is thrumming with excitement as he ignores the stares thrown at him in the bus and on his way to Soobin, thankfully no one asks him about it, probably too shocked to see a student from his prestigious school drenched in blood.

He is shaking as he rounds the corner of the concrete prison of Soobin’s apartment complex, to reach the worn stairs that wind up the side of the building. The elevator hasn’t worked once in the time Yeonjun and Soobin have been friends.

It reeks of tar and heated stone, the walls cheep and crumbling like the very people it is holding inside, perched in like a flock of birds. Mere livestock to a non-existent greater good. They are lucky, really, should thank Yeonjun for every single life he takes out of the cycle.

He always starts trembling about an hour after he does just that, making climbing the stairs a tad bit harder than it really should be. It begins as a gentle thrum in his fingertips, waves of electricity making his thumb twitch, knuckles crack with cramping movements.

Then his legs become unsteady and his chest starts to flutter, breathing is hard. In and out, each wing of his lung is wheezing with the pressure of excitement and euphoria. Sometimes it makes him laugh, magically and for hours, until his throat is raw and his body stops twitching.

Other times he curls in on himself under his bed, much like he did as a scared child, suppressing heaving sobs into his fist until he is bleeding.

But today is one of the few days that are _different_. He is shaking, sure, but full of energy, attempting to take two steps at a time to fly up, ignoring all signs of exhaustion. It’s only palpable for Yeonjun when he can hear it in his heavy breaths and echoing heartbeat, when he finally reaches the seventh floor and makes his way to the seventh apartment.

Only a metal door is separating Soobin and him, dark lacquer cracking at the corners, just like the blood on Yeonjun’s face. It feels like his skin is crawling with enough power to rip the heavy door out of its hinges completely, like he’ll rip apart if he doesn’t get to do _something_. He doesn’t harm his friends, his family, not even acquaintances. But Yeonjun isn’t sure if he could stop himself if Soobin won’t help him _alleviate_ this fucking _pressure_.

Soobin is either eager or desperate with how quick he opens the door when Yeonjun finally knocks, there in half a second as if he waited right behind it for the whole thirty minutes. He smiles shyly at first, before his face falls at the sight of the blood on the older’s face and he pulls him in, slams the door shut and gasps.

“ _Hyung_!”, he exclaims, almost erratic, scared if it wasn’t for the fascination on Soobin’s face, bottom lip disappearing behind his bunny teeth for a second and coming back out _slick_. “You rode a bus like this?” He sounds completely scandalized. Poor, _precious_ thing.

Yeonjun chuckles and takes a step closer to Soobin, the younger backing up with a pink blush in his cheeks. “Hello to you too, Soobin-ah,” he says and smiles up at him. “ _It’s nice to see you, hyung, I missed you_ ,” he adds, mocking what he secretly wanted to hear from the other, who just blushes a deeper shade of pink at the cute high voice of his hyung.

“I-I really did… miss you, I mean,” he stammers, stumbling backwards another step that Yeonjun takes towards him. His back hits the door and he groans at the sudden pressure of the knob pressing into his spine. But Yeonjun comes ever closer. “H-hyung?”

The tone in his voice sounds _pathetic_ , high-pitched and whiny, broken at the end as if his voice just found out how to conjure depth. Yeonjun needs more of it, so he places his hands next to Soobin’s head, caging him against the door. “Did you? Because I missed you so much, I don’t know how to handle myself ‘cause I’m thinking about you all the time.”

The younger’s breath hitches in his throat, his body curling and bending to not get stabbed into the back by the knob, in the process pressing closer to Yeonjun, their middles aligning and Soobin’s hyung presses _back_ and oh-

“A-are you…”, He wants to ask, voice breaking at the end and Soobin could swear Yeonjun’s eyes roll back for a split second before focusing back on him. He cocks his head to the side cutely, rising his brows as if questioning Soobin what exactly he’s asking. “It’s only been a month since I dropped out and you miss me this much? Is that right?”

“I miss you with every fibre of my being,” Yeonjun answers, pressing himself against Soobin until he can feel his breath fan unsteadily over his face. “I miss your stupidly tall body, your dumb laugh, your horrible jokes in maths… I need you, Soobin, I need you so fucking bad.”

Soobin _giggles_ , fucking giggles into the already heated air between them, sweater-pawed hands clutching over his mouth before settling on Yeonjun’s arms next to his head. “Is that why you came here today? Because you n- _need_ me?” His try of confidence dies with a squeal as he realizes the meaning behind the easy word.

“Don’t you think we’re long past this,” Yeonjun sighs, and when he cocks his head to the other side, there’s something new in his gaze, that Soobin has never seen before. It’s bright and dangerous, eyes trembling like the fingers drumming a constant rhythm against the door. Is he nervous? But it seems so different from simple nervousness. Intense and even a bit scary.

“P-past this?”

Another sigh, furrowing brows, the blood sure does like real from this up-close. “Come on, Soobin, don’t you want me too?” The question blows away any blossom of worry from Soobin’s mind like a spring breeze flowing over a field of flowers.

He shakes his head, just quickly and Yeonjun’s face falls, peeled off like a mask. He looks angry, terrifying. Soobin’s breath stutters but then he smiles. “I think I need you too,” he confesses, quietly, fingers clutching tight around Yeonjun’s wrists.

As quick as it fell, Yeonjun’s face goes back to normal, empty eyes to shimmering excitement, fallen lips to a full smile. He closes the last few centimetres between them and huffs against Soobin’s lips, “Sure?”

The younger breathes in deeply and smells iron, brass, metal. “It smells like real bloo-“

Instead of the words leaving his lips, he gets another pair pressed against his own, plush and soft, featherlight until Soobin unfreezes and melts against the door, ignoring the pressure of the knob and instead just allowing himself to fall into Yeonjun’s every touch.

His hands clamber over shaking arms, hooking around Yeonjun’s neck and pulling him even closer until they're pressed together completely, buttons pressing against chests, fabric creasing over stomachs, hardness pressing against simmering heat.

With fingers pulling lightly at his hair, Yeonjun allows himself to deepen the kiss, now overstepping any boundary they built between them before. His lips fit perfectly in between Soobin’s, their noses bumping just here and there when one of them gets _too_ eager, too hungry and slips up, over, under, in.

On lips follow tongues, teeth, sharp yet dull, biting down almost painfully sweetly on Soobin’s bottom lips, who goes all but pliant for Yeonjun, jaw slack, tongue stilling, just letting him taste and take. There’s a leg pressing between his own too, just ever so slightly, and how could he forbid himself the joy of getting some sweet relief on his clothed erection, when Yeonjun tastes so good and makes him feel even better.

Soobin ruts his hips in tiny figure-eight motions, just enough to feel his zipper press against his cock, Yeonjun’s thigh muscles pulsing against him _just_ right, not really like he deeply wants it, but enough for now. Long forgotten is any thought of iron scent, even when it fills up Soobin’s nostrils from the sole proximity of the other.

Against the door, Yeonjun’s fingers are still drumming, shorter now, less rhythmically, but nevertheless a clear sign that he is _bursting_ with energy, growing impatient and oh so needy, but not yet at a point where he will snap out of the comfortable bubble of kissing and tasting.

The younger however, seems to think differently, pulling his lip from between Yeonjun’s teeth with a wet, sound, feeling swollen and raw, but in the best possible way. Words come mushy and wet, funny and making them laugh, but in the end Soobin manages to breath out a giggly, “Bedroom?” and Yeonjun pulls away at lightning speed.

They stumble down the hallway under continued smiles and laughs, cute and firing up whenever their eyes or hands would land on each other, when Yeonjun pulls Soobin to his side and nearly falls over a rug in the process.

A door flies open and then slams shut, fingers too occupied with fumbling buttons open, to close it quietly. Yeonjun’s stupid rich-boy school uniform lands on the floor next to Soobin’s dirty laundry, his own extra-large sweater over his more-than-dead plant.

Somehow, they get each other topless, but stop short before Soobin’s unmade bed, hands on the younger’s waistband and just waiting to pull the rest of his offending clothes off.

“I really, _really_ need to fuck you, I think?” Yeonjun says with a voice halfway between awkward and ridiculously hot. The syllables feel big on his tongue, unfamiliar with Soobin in the mix, because he is just so far from _fuckable_ , but really, _make-love-able_ sounds even worse.

Instead of protest and shy, flustered gasps, there’s a short pause of just breathing and then a whine so unlike anything that Yeonjun would attribute to Soobin, he has to run a hand over his face to clear his mind, wiping crusts over his skin in the process.

“Y-you can do that,” Soobin answers, taking it into his own hands to get out of his pants as Yeonjun seems to be trapped in too much of a shocked stare to help him out. “Do you want to wash your face first?” He asks, wondering if the feeling of crusted fake blood is what has the older so trapped.

The sudden affirmation snaps him out of it however, a quick shadow running over his features before he smiles brightly again, cutely nodding before turning around to his backpack that they carelessly dropped to the floor earlier. A red marker must’ve burst in it, because the whole bottom of the grey fabric is tinted a dark, nearly-black red.

“Do you have lube, Soobin-ah?”, Yeonjun asks as he knees down next to his bag, fumbling around in it for a second before pulling out a silver foil packet triumphantly. “I have condoms,” he declares with a bright grin.

Soobin blushes, can feel it run down his neck and shoulders in little shudders. “Y-you always carry these around with you, hyung?” He asks with a voice so quiet, he hopes maybe Yeonjun won’t hear, as he turns to his nightstand and gets out his half-used bottle of lube.

“You don’t?” Yeonjun asks rhetorically instead of giving a direct answer, snatching the bottle right out of Soobin’s trembling hands and reading over the label for a few moments as Soobin settles in the centre of his bed on his back, clutching a pillow in front of himself protectively.

When Yeonjun looks up, he can’t help but smile giddily. Soobin looks even lankier like this, all long, pale legs and skinny frame, stretched out on the mattress but hiding away his most private parts.

“Feeling shy, baby?”, he asks cruelly, earning another cute whimper and Yeonjun doubts he’ll ever grow tired of those. He climbs over Soobin, pushing his thighs apart gently, intertwining their fingers to get him to unclench the poor pillow. “You’re okay, it’s just me, Soobin-ah. Just your favourite hyung.”

Soobin curses under his breath, something cute sounding a bit like _fucking fuck why are you so hot please fuck_ , that Yeonjun allows to slide by without scolding as he unplucks one of his hands and pushes the pillow to the side, off of the bed. Soobin shuts up immediately.

Of course, like the rest of him, his cock would also be _unfairly_ pretty. It’s long and curved just right, flush and heavy against his soft stomach and his tip is a deep read, already glistening with wetness.

His balls are small and cute, pulling barely downwards in an innocent picture of young desire. Yeonjun’s eyes drift downwards even further, over Soobin’s smooth skin to the dark rim of his hole, tight and _pretty_ , if that is a feature one can attribute to such thing. Cute definitely. Yeonjun wants to rip him apart until he bleeds and shoot his load all over the mess.

“H-hyung,” Soobin whines, deliciously in his throat. “You look like you’re about to _eat_ me, s-stop!”

It’s closer to the truth for Yeonjun to be comfortable. He _would_ eat Soobin, given the chance, but right now, he’s okay with ruining him just a little bit, first. “You’re just so pretty, I can’t help myself. I just want to sink into you and see you lose your mind, is that so reprehensible?”

Soobin cries out and opens his legs wider, his cock jumping on his stomach. “O-oh god, please just _do it_ then,” he whines, hands falling over his face to hide his pink cheeks and already wet eyes. He just wants Yeonjun to finally fucking touch him and stop _staring_ like a lunatic.

With his hands covering his eyes, Soobin doesn’t see when Yeonjun comes closer, only feels the sudden touch of a tentative finger circling his hole, then the familiar snap of the lube bottle.

“Did you clean yourself for me, Soobin-ah?” Yeonjun asks and it shouldn’t be _hot_ , but Soobin surely feels like his skin is on fire when he admits that yes, he did clean himself in hopes for exactly this to happen. “So I’m not your first?” Yeonjun inquires further after his confirmation.

Before Soobin can answer, cold lube is drizzled right onto him, running down his perineum and over his hole, over Yeonjun’s finger still gently stroking him. His heart skips a beat, expands in his chest, _hurts_ , when the older finally pushes in, a comforting pressure of warmth filling him slowly but surely, until Soobin can feel Yeonjun’s palm press against him.

“Come on, Soobin, tell me your filthy secrets,” Yeonjun pants, just as affected as he lightly pushes his finger in and out, smiling when Soobin clenches around him as if showing him he can handle this, that he knows this feeling. “Tell me who fucked you before me.”

Soobin opens his mouth and Yeonjun begins to push in a second finger, stealing away his breath yet again, right from the tips of his opened lips. “A _lot_ of people, hyung, I don’t think I can recount them all…” He moans eventually, breathy yet incredibly smug and Yeonjun feels the sudden urge to snap his neck.

“So you happily fucked other people, but played coy with me?”, Yeonjun asks, curling his fingers against Soobin’s swollen prostate, pressing maybe a bit too hard just to see him squirm and hear his pretty whines light up the room. “You probably don’t even need me to finger you, just so happy to get a dick inside you, aren’t you?”

“I-I’ve been wondering when the _fuck_ you’ll finally get to it, ‘s not like I’ll break, h-hyung.” Soobin says, surprisingly stable and with a smile peaking through his hands, teasing, seeing when Yeonjun will have enough and be jealous enough to snap. Oh, he underestimates him quite a bit, doesn’t he?

Pulling his fingers free in a swift motion, Yeonjun ignores Soobin’s whines when he wipes them against his thigh. “You want me to break you, baby? I can cut you apart if you want to, I can fuck you up in ways you don’t even _dream_ of.”

The ripping sound of the condom package being opened cuts right through Soobin’s cloud of lust, his skin erupting in goosebumps at the sudden change in tone from his hyung. He pulls his hands away from his face, burying them in the duvet for purpose, to brace himself.

Yeonjun doesn’t even pull his pants off, just opens them roughly and pulls them down enough to free his cock, immediately obscuring Soobin’s sight of it with his hands as he rolls the condom on.

Soobin begins to realize he might’ve made a mistake in riling the other up, when his thighs are pressed apart roughly, nails digging into his soft skin hard enough to leave deep, red indents as Yeonjun shuffles in between them.

In a spur of the moment decision, he grabs one of the pillows from the end of the bed and roughly prompts Soobin to raise his hips to plop it underneath him. Settling back down, Soobin gets a moment’s sight of Yeonjun’s cock, thick and long, before he lines himself up with his hole, pressing his tip against Soobin’s rim with a steady pressure, but never enough to _breach_.

Soobin swears that he _lives_ for this moment, this short spark of doubt and uncertainty before he is forced to take what someone else wants inside of him. Before he gets spread open and filled, uncomfortable, painful even, at first, only for his mind and body to numb it down to pure and utter bliss, enough to make him forget his own fucking name.

Yeonjun takes his time just watching Soobin contract around his tip, opening himself and begging him forward before closing again in a steady, desperate rhythm. He laughs when Soobin cants his hips forward, whines, pounds his hands against the mattress, but doesn’t fucking _ask_ him to finally move.

“Don’t you want to beg for me, Soobin-ah?” he prompts in a singsong voice, bending forward to plant a hand over the younger’s shoulder and holding himself steady over him, making sure his cock is always in contact with Soobin with his other hand.

The other tuts, pouts his cute bottom lip out and rolls his eyes, squirming, squirming, _squirming_ , but not using his voice for what it’s made. After what feels like a whole eternity, but really is just a few moments, Soobin breaks. “ _Hyung_ , I don’t beg- _nghh-_ ”

The rest of his sentence is swallowed when Yeonjun finally presses forward, needing a few heavy thrust of his hips to get the angle right and finally enter Soobin. His head slips in almost too easily, sucked forward into plush, tight heat.

It feels just like earlier that day, when Yeonjun forced his fingers into a tight body, when he pushes in further and further, forces Soobin to adapt and _take_ him, until he is finally seated deeply inside of him, his hips pressed flush against Soobin’s ass. Maybe Yeonjun touched the part where the very tip of his cock is resting now, earlier that day too, just from the inside and with stinging, trembling fingers.

The thought alone makes him pull out a bit and rut back into Soobin under a curse, wondering if he maybe should try to fuck someone before cutting them open, and see if he can feel his cock inside with his very fingers.

Soobin is gasping helplessly for air, not granted a second to get used to even being full, before Yeonjun settles on a deep, bone-grinding rhythm. He’s hovering over Soobin, but his head is thrown back, eyes closed, and his face painted with such utter bliss, the younger wonders how he could ever be the source of that.

And his cock fills him up _perfectly_ , running over his spot with every thrust, every deep plow reverberating through Soobin’s core, to the deepest parts of his being. It punches sickly sweet moans out of him, voice filled with tears yet to fall, affected by that body-overtaking power behind Yeonjun’s hips, that Soobin would’ve never expected.

Usually he’s loud during sex, but in a way that he teases and spurs his partners on, makes them unwind over the course of being inside of him. With Yeonjun, Soobin is loud too, but in the opposite way, already so overwhelmed from just getting used to his body, to the way he uses him.

Only when Yeonjun moans out loudly, fucking particularly hard into Soobin’s willing body, does the other feel something off, but his lids feel too heavy, his body too tight, too worn, to begin to wrap his head around it.

When Yeonjun reaches between them to readjust the condom, Soobin finally manages to look up to see what the strange warm feeling on his cheek and neck are. He puts a finger to it, nearly poking himself in the eye from another harsh thrust, and when he pulls it away, his digit is covered in deep red.

Gasping in shock, Soobin looks up at Yeonjun, to see him look right back, a smile playing on his lips when he isn’t moaning out sweet praises and noise, his eyes strangely awake for what they are doing.

And from his forehead and cheek, seemingly prompted by Yeonjun’s extensive movements, blood is dripping down on Soobin.

“Hyung,” he calls, a garbled moan when Yeonjun slows his thrust _right_ as he grinds over Soobin’s prostate. “ _Hyung_ , y-you’re-“

Yeonjun slows down and brings his left hand to Soobin’s cheek, smearing a drop of blood over his skin. “It’s okay, Soobin-ah, d-don’t worry,” he assures, his body overtaken by another wave of despair and fucking into the younger harder, at the fantasy of that blood being Soobin’s, his eyes lifeless and body torn apart underneath Yeonjun.

“Y-your wounds, hyung,” Soobin tries again, sobbing with each rock of his body, up the mattress, he thinks a tear is escaping his eye, probably mixing with the blood on his face.

Yeonjun fucks particularly hard into the other, stilling once he’s pressed incredibly deep into Soobin. “Ignore it, I’m fine,” he spits, a warning paired with a poisonous glare that makes Soobin choke up where he wanted to make sure Yeonjun is really okay.

“I j-just want to-“, he tries again, closing his eyes to escape that glare that sends almost uncomfortable shivers down Soobin’s spine. “Your wounds are real, hyung… What happened?”

With a groan, Yeonjun pushes himself up and slides out of Soobin, leaving him a confused mess, pleading for _no, no, no, come back hyung_ , that gets pointedly ignored when Yeonjun reaches over Soobin and grabs another pillow.

Soobin looks confused for a second, maybe even worried, but then Yeonjun’s mouth opens and the words nearly tip the younger over the edge, that he didn’t even realize he was this close to already.

“Jesus Christ, can’t you just shut the fuck up, or do I have to cut your tongue out.”

It’s certainly nothing that Soobin has ever been told in bed, or anywhere for that matter, but Yeonjun’s theatre group must pay off, because he sounds completely sincere, serious that he would actually go lengths to make him quiet.

With his back curling up on the mattress, Soobin spreads his legs more, whimpering a pathetic, “ _Please_ , _Junnie_.” He presents himself as best as he can, open, vulnerable, long legs making an obscene picture as they strain to go as far apart as they can.

The last thing he sees is a roll of eyes from the older, before the pillow is pressed onto his face and held down with more power Soobin would’ve expected, as if Yeonjun is leaning down and actually holding up his weight like this.

But then his cock presses into Soobin again, smoothly and with a delicious squelch, and all Soobin can think about is the feeling of hips now snapping against him with an almost frantic pace.

He can’t really breathe, just the bare minimum of what his lungs need, but it somehow heightens every feeling, the drops of blood now falling to his chest, Yeonjun’s cock dragging over his skin almost too smoothly, as if Soobin’s body was molded just for this purpose, to take Yeonjun however he so desires.

There’s a hand sneaking down over his chest, now even more weight added to the pillow pressing on his head. Blood is smeared around his nipples, making him whimper around a mouthful of fabric, and then a wet hand curls around his cock and jerks him at a slower pace that Yeonjun is fucking into him, torturing Soobin’s mind with the difference of intensity.

It’s almost soft, delicate where Yeonjun curls his fingers around him and just pulls his foreskin down over his head, up again and down, a thumb sometimes swiping over his slit and easing the slide with his precum. And with a control Soobin wishes he could possess, Yeonjun is fucking into him almost violently at the same time, not as deep, not reverberating throughout Soobin’s whole being, but fast and perfectly grazing over his prostate, even at the frantic speed of it all.

Suddenly Yeonjun’s hips falter, and Soobin wonders if he came, but then the weight is lifted from his face and he can push the pillow off, eyes closed against the sudden brightness of them room and taking a deep intake of air, that his lungs craved.

There’s a sharp snap and when Soobin’s eyes finally adapt to the light, Yeonjun is hovering above him with a knife.

The younger’s head is cloudy, filled with arousal and sweet lightheadedness and his tongue is tied around a cotton ball of nerves, or maybe it’s the tightness of fear making itself known at the back of his throat. “I-is that a-“, he croaks out, but Yeonjun shushes him with a finger to his lips, the blade of the small knife pressed flat against Soobin’s cheek.

“ _Shh_ , baby, it’s okay,” Yeonjun promises and his eyes are glazed over with something else entirely. Soobin shivers. “I won’t hurt you.” _Yet._

He flinches when Yeonjun abruptly moves backwards, turning the knife around in his hand and holding it out for Soobin to take, the younger only reluctantly doing so. When his eyes close in on the knife, he realizes it’s the same kind that he used when he went camping as a child, the blade just _much_ sharper, somehow making the whole thing look like a very dangerous weapon.

“What-“ he doesn’t know if it’s been trained into him just from the short experience of sleeping with Yeonjun, or the prickling fear of the older having brought out a sharp knife without warning, but Soobin shuts up with only a raise of brows directed his way.

“I want you to do something with this,” Yeonjun says and his voice is _gone_ , wet from drool spilling over his lips and this sight must _really_ affect him, Soobin realizes.

He gulps but does what he does best, relaxes his expression and holds the knife out with more confidence, pointing it right at Yeonjun’s heart. “You want me to cut you?” He asks, trying to sound coy, but the hint of reluctance in his voice is clear. Yeonjun throbs inside of him.

“Me. Yourself. I don’t fucking care,” he moans, sudden hands gripping Soobin’s hips and pulling him forward until they’re pressed together again. The younger feels so full, so warm and fuzzy and he definitely shouldn’t hold a knife in his state.

But he does and he wants to make Yeonjun proud, make him feel good, so he slowly brings the blade forward and grazes it over the soft skin of his hyung’s stomach, leaving small red streaks that vanish in the blink of an eye.

Yeonjun moans and it spurs Soobin on to press down harder, creating tiny scratches with the very tip of the knife, not drawing blood, but making small patterns around Yeonjun’s belly button. He’s careful, concentrated, and when Yeonjun suddenly pulls out and fucks forward with all he has, Soobin is too slow to pull the knife back.

He stabs Yeonjun in between his lowest ribs, not deep, maybe half a centimetre at most, but the blade is sharp, blood pours out and Yeonjun _moans_. He curses and stills his hips, but he moans and praises Soobin, fucking smiles at him even when the knife falls to the duvet and makes a bloody mess.

Soobin stammers, tries to apologize, to say something, but Yeonjun is so _pretty_ like this, almost angelic with the light filtering around him like a halo, even with his face and stomach tinted red.

He’s especially beautiful when he throws his head back and rakes fingers through the steady trickle of blood, a finger even pressing into the small cut and making him whine highly in his throat and Soobin thinks this must be the peak of his sex life.

He goes easily, when Yeonjun’s bloody fingers reach for his own and place them on the soft, warm skin of his stomach, direct them through the mess until Soobin is brave enough to explore himself.

He draws patterns in blood, hearts and flowers, circles and things that fill Yeonjun’s pale skin with obscene pictures until there’s more red than not. “You’re so hot. This is so hot,” Soobin breathes when he presses his finger down over the cut and Yeonjun sobs. “ _Fuck_ , Yeonjun, please.”

The older is panting, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat and the blood where it is spread over his skin, already drying up in some places. When he calms somewhat, Yeonjun’s expression is still unfamiliar, but his voice is stronger again, sending Soobin directly into a sense of weak security.

His hyung’s next words diminish that. “You like this?”, he asks as he picks the knife up and wipes it on his clothed leg a few times. “That’s filthy, Soobin-ah. So dirty…”

Soobin could’ve expected it, especially with the knife in Yeonjun’s hand looking so _fitting_ , but the first touch of metal to his stomach makes him jump anyway, sweet yet dangerous, so close to hurting but not quite.

But then Yeonjun smiles in a way that can only be described as evil, and presses the knife down on the right side of Soobin’s ribcage, enough to draw blood, and he pulls it down agonizingly slowly until he reaches the younger’s left hipbone.

It’s a sweet sting, nothing Soobin never suffered before, but it’s different in a context like this, not cooking or being clumsy, but _fucking_. Having a pulsing cock buried deep inside of him, his own one deep red and aching to finally release. Soobin is so close.

He feels himself teeter even further towards it, when he finally manages to open his eyes and look at the jarred cut Yeonjun created. Soobin doesn’t know it, of course, but it’s the exact same place where the older cut his victim open just a few hours earlier, just much less deep, only a thin cut with blood pearling out here and there, not even running, just seeping to the surface.

Yeonjun moans as he takes in his work, wondering how one worm can be so pretty, angelic, like Soobin, and others are hairy, stinking abominations. He sighs dreamily, dropping the blade carelessly to the side.

“I could cut even deeper, right here,” he says with a small tremble in his voice, tracing the cut. “I could dig my fingers in,”, he presses down on either side of the cut. “Pull out your deepest secrets, make you truly bleed and suffer and-“

It comes as a surprise to both of them, when Soobin reaches his orgasm just like that, back arching off the bed as he releases all over his stomach, cum mixing with blood and stinging where it seeps into the cut.

In his hazy state he manages to clench tight around Yeonjun, prompting him to fuck him through his throws of pleasure, before releasing deep inside of Soobin, into the condom, collapsing onto him in the process with a hiss as their stomachs collide.

They stay like this for a long while, both coming down and Yeonjun even coming back to himself, really. Soobin is playing with his hair, whimpering every time the older moves and crying out loudly when he eventually pulls out and discards of the condom.

When he turns around, Soobin can clearly see the bloody mess that Yeonjun is, his face drenched in red, stomach like a fucked-up artwork. He forces himself to his feet and in front of his mirror to look at himself, trembling legs soon steadied by Yeonjun behind him.

The cut looks almost too intentional, like Yeonjun knew exactly how he wanted each jagged-up crook to look. The blood has dried in little droplets where the skin opened, not running down, just staying eternal beads of crimson. His face is a mess any makeup artist could be proud of, crumbling blood on his cheek and brow, lips swollen and bitten. He looks stunning and Yeonjun tells him as much.

They shower anyway, only after taking a plethora of pictures of each other and together to remember the moment with. And then, both cuddled up in Soobin’s clothes in the living room, Soobin’s mother comes home and smiles as he sees the two huddled together.

“Yeonjun, good to see you,” she says cheerfully, placing down bags in the kitchen. “I’m making tteokbeokki for dinner, if you want to stay.”

And Yeonjun never says no to that, not even with blood seeping through a Molang bandaid over the cut on his stomach, or with Soobin wincing every time he moves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos and comments for my eternal love :3
> 
> Twitter/ CC: ninchannie
> 
> ~ F


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